


Plow Me Like a Field, Cowboy

by Novanii



Series: Runner [6]
Category: All Elite Wrestling, Professional Wrestling
Genre: Cleaner Kenny has no filter and that's the tag, Depictions of Mental Ilness, M/M, Mild Sexual Language, My partner and I use different tenses to confuse the feds, Referenced alcohol abuse, Set the night after the Winter is Coming episode, Swearing, minor self-harm, rp thread
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-27
Updated: 2020-12-27
Packaged: 2021-03-10 17:27:36
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,148
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28360908
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Novanii/pseuds/Novanii
Summary: The new AEW champion calls Adam Page at one in the morning, because, as Adam is quickly learning, Kenny is a prick.
Relationships: Kenny Omega/Adam Page
Series: Runner [6]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2055381
Comments: 2
Kudos: 16





	Plow Me Like a Field, Cowboy

**Author's Note:**

> Copied from an RP thread completed with my writing partner.

**K.**

The Cleaner won. He’d cheated a little bit, _sure_ , but Moxley is far from _saintly_ himself: a paradigm shift into a heater? How irresponsible— he could’ve been seriously hurt! The microphone had accidentally fallen into the ring via Moxley _hitting_ the innocent _, oh so concerned_ Callis, and Omega had simply seized the moment. _So what?_ He’d dethroned the illegitimate king, the wolf that tried _pathetically_ hard to act as if he were “one of the good ones” by dressing in sheep’s clothing, and _Omega_ is the bad one? He’d “run away like a little bitch” because he’d known Moxley, _ever the sore loser_ , would not take kindly to the loss. _Moxley is terrifying!_ A bulldog with lockjaw, Moxley is not prepared to give up the championship; if he sinks his teeth back into Omega, _he won’t let go this time_. But Omega is a coward, _evidently_ , for protecting himself from Moxley’s _childish_ game of tug of war.

 _“A screwjob,”_ Kenny laughs, even now, at that, giggling like a _schoolgirl_ as he scrabbles for the championship fixed to his waist. _“Screwjob.”_ One of his fingertips, _trembling_ , traces the lettering: _A. E. W., A. E. W.,_ A. E. W.

Well, it _worked_ , didn’t it?

 _Just call him the Heartbreak Kid_.

He retrieves his cellphone from his pocket, one o’clock in the morning, and selects a phone number, a _name_ , from his contact list. He isn’t anticipating an answer. Not as late at night as it is, not as reprehensible as he _supposedly_ is. But Page would not dare regard him as reprehensible. _Not Page_. Loyal to a fault, Page will accept him blindly and worship him as if he were a _God_. It’s hot, really, how _devoted_ Page is. Ghost him for two months, and Omega, _still_ , could have pleaded for anything, _anything_ from him and been given it. To be worshiped as if he were a God by a man as handsome, as _holy,_ as Hangman Page, even _before_ he’d won the championship? He moans into his cellphone and grabs at his, _his_ , championship.

Page only wants to share the limelight, Omega had realized that _months_ ago. Page never cared about him, _not truly_. But as long as he gets attention, _as long as Page stays in line_ , that is more than fine with him.

He perceives Page’s voice, _or he at least thinks that he does_ , through his vulgarity. “Page?” He breaks off into wild laughter. “Did you watch? Did you see me? No one else could do it, but I did. _I beat Moxley_.” He’s touching the championship, almost _obscenely_ in the slowness of his fingertips, as he prattles on, and on, and _on_. “Didn’t I do good?”

**A.**

Adam laid in complete darkness and listened to the air conditioning flick on-and-off. To the cars outside on the road. The parties of pedestrians that stumbled by, laughing or shouting. Adam had booked a hotel close to the ocean this trip to Jacksonville, Florida, and he could hear the roar of the waves in the distance. He did not sleep a wink or a blink, his head too full of thoughts. Incessant, pressing, and grating against his conscience. It was clear, his brain was not going to allow him rest. 

His phone buzzed. A long sustained vibration against the nightstand. Adam groaned and threw the covers off his chest as he rolled over. Into the dark he pawed, searching for the blasted device. He did his best to not _register the ungodly time_ on the clock _._ Blinking as the far-too-bright, phone screen flicked on and seared his eyeballs. He read the caller ID and froze. 

_Kenny._

Five letters, two syllables, one name. 

His thumb hovered over the decline button and then darted for the green call symbol at the last second. Adam brought the phone to his ear. He wedged his elbow into the mattress and sat-up, his legs crossing beneath the blankets. 

“Kenny?” 

Yeah, Adam watched the championship match. He was in the audience. He had snuck-out into the nosebleeds. He had donned a mask and hoodie so as to go unrecognized. There was something off about Kenny in that fight. He couldn’t quite put his finger on it. Just something wasn’t right. It’d be like, if someone broke into his house, moved his couch two inches to the left, then he walked into the living room, and had to figure out what the _fuck_ was wrong. That ending, that ending though–

Whoo, boy, it was something. Word in the locker room was that Kenny and Callis had _screwed_ AEW. Adam had glimpsed Mox in medical, he looked pissed. 

Jesus Christ, Adam hoped Kenny hadn’t watched the Battle Royale. 

“What the _fuck, man_ ?” Adam snarled, his tone biting with his exhaustion and pent-up frustration. “You haven’t talked to me in a _month,_ man. Now you call me at one in the Goddamned morning?! Did you do good?! Yeah, I guess, you won, seriously, congratulations. I mean it. You’re the champion now, are you happy?”

**K.**

Page is angry. Page is angry, angrier than Omega has perhaps ever known from him, and Omega responds with _laughter_ , swaying back and forth, _back and forth_ , on the toes of his shoes. Page is angry, and Page’s anger is _amusing_. A month ago, Page had smiled at him, said that he would _defeat Moxley_ and become the World Champion. And he did. He _did_ defeat Moxley, and he _had_ become the World Champion. And now, Page is angry. What else is Omega to do _but_ laugh at his anger, as _irrational_ as it is. Omega hadn’t spoken to Page in a month— _so what?_ Adam could have confronted him. But he didn’t. And what is Page looking for, anyway?

 _Oh, that_.

 _Still_ , what is Page _looking_ for. Was Omega supposed to wake him up and bid him _‘adieu’_ to be, what, _courteous_ to him? He and Page hadn’t had a one night stand— he and Page had slept in the same bed, _nothing more_. The encounter had been more romantic than intended, _sure_ , but they hadn’t had _sex_ , for God’s sake, because Page must think he’s repulsive, or that he’s ugly, _or something_. (He tries to disregard the bout of insecurity that such a thought evokes within him. He doesn’t care. _He doesn’t care_.) Did he really, _really_ owe it to Page, their relationship that night entirely platonic, to say his goodbyes amidst the morning after?

The answer is _‘yes,’_ resoundingly so.

Omega opts to disregard that fact.

Page is angry, and now, his anger is no longer _entirely_ entertaining. “Jesus, _Page_ , sorry that I thought that you’d still be awake. It’s not _that_ late,” Omega says, voice still _giggly_ yet there exists a hint of _offense_ , both mock and true. “I am very happy! And I thought you’d be happy for me, but I guess not. I was actually gonna ask if I could come see you again.” _He wasn’t_. He sighs, scraping his shoe against the pavement in feigned dejection as if Page were _there_ and could _see_ him. _The façade doesn’t last long._ “ _So_ ,” he drawls,“are you really _that_ mad about me not waking you up and telling you _‘bye’_ before I left? Did we have a one night stand, or something, and I just don’t remember it? I _was_ kinda walking funny that morning.” He giggles boyishly as if _sex jokes_ are simply the _pinnacle_ of humor.

“ _Anyway_ , there’s a much more _important_ issue here — even more important than me winning the title!” _Maybe_. “I just watched the Battle Royale.” He thinks of the Dark Order, how they act like they _loved_ Page. The championship now abandoned, Omega’s hands furl and unfurl, fingernails biting into his palms. _He hates it_. He hates the Dark Order, and he hates how his heart, _still_ , aches for stupid, _stupid_ Page. “What the fuck was that, _Page?_ Huh?”

**A.**

Adam sat in bed, mouth agape, brow furrowed, and heart somewhere around his heels. Where to even start. It was like instead of just calling Adam, Kenny had broken into his hotel room, and then puked in his lap. Once, while Adam had been laying on the couch, playing his switch and _agonizing_ over where to put the museum for its third move in a week, Ultra had thrown-up in the living room. Just a _hack, hack, blargh,_ and there it was, well-digested dog food on the rug. Of course, Ultra didn’t give a single shit and gladly bounded off to indulge in some more kibble. That feeling Adam had while looking down at this particularly generous gift from his dog— was how Adam felt right now. Like, every time he tried to move on from this, from this _thing_ he had with Kenny, Kenny elbowed his way back in. 

Adam pitched forward, face falling into his hand when Kenny finally deigned to stop talking. His hands were shaking, a physical tremble that was making it hard to keep ahold of the phone. Never once had Adam heard Kenny refer to him with so much rancor _._ And at this point, he assumed it was fitting. 

_Tell Kenny how big of a piece of shit you are._

_He already knows,_ Adam had almost answered. 

“What the _fuck_ was— no, no, _no_ ,” Adam growled. “ _Fuck_ no.”

He swung his legs over the edge of the bed. Adam clawed out into the dark in search of the bedside lamp. His fingers found the switch and he flicked it on. Light flooded the room. There was a whole Pandora’s box of conversations Kenny was trying to release and at one in the morning, Adam should shut the lid. Yet, here he was, rubbing his hands over his eyes and feeling his pulse quicken. 

“You don’t get to call me after ignoring me for an entire month,” Adam said. “And then ignoring me for _two_ months before that, and act like you have the right to an opinion about my damn loss in the battle royale. I’m on my own, now, right, you and the Bucks have made that very clear, I got what I wanted. Lone rider, Adam Page. Yeah, I screwed it up, the sky is blue, what else is new? Kenny? Actually, no, what the _fuck_ is going on?”

Adam pressed to his feet. He was standing, alone in his hotel room, at one in the morning, on the phone with Kenny Omega, his heart about to beat out of his chest and his hands trembling. 

“I- I thought, you said we were cool, we were _fine,”_ Adam breathed. The cold, empty bed stretched-out behind him and his chest _seized. “_ Then you leave, and you– you, hit Mox with a mic?! And stole the damn belt?! You’re going to be on Impact on Tuesday?! _Impact?!_ I thought we were building a brand here _._ And— And what the hell do you mean you had trouble walking in the morning–”

Adam froze, hand extended in a broad gesture, suddenly remembering he was in a hotel room with neighbors and his voice was too loud. He licked his lips and closed his eyes. 

_“Jesus Christ,_ I— I thought.” He thought what, that holding Kenny Omega in the middle of the night was okay. As if Kenny Fucking Omega could ever appreciate the comfort of _him._

His voice softened, a pitiful whisper, “I thought that was what you wanted.”

**K.**

Page growls through the cell phone, and Omega truly, _truly_ does not intend to giggle like a schoolgirl, giddy and a bit _lovestruck_ by the overtly masculine vocalization. But how could he not? Page is angrier than Omega has ever known from him, and it’s, truthfully, _kind of hot_. The growl in his voice, how he demands ( _slightly_ ) that he be respected, that Omega _has no right_ to speak to him with such irreverence after the _months_ of miscommunication— Omega doesn’t understand why he’s as angry as he is, why he’s acting as if Omega’s lack of communication had _destroyed_ him and that is the fault of _Omega_ , but _it’s still hot_.

_If only he’d been so angry at Wheeler and Harwood._

For once, he allows Page to speak, although he does interject, “I _won_ the belt, Page,” at the accusation of theft. Who does Page think he is? A _thief?_ He scoffs, situating his cellphone against his shoulder to indignantly cross his arms. His indignation does not last long, however, once Page, as flustered as he is, echoes Omega’s words— _“had trouble walking in the morning”_ — and the realization of _what those words meant_ dawns, horrifically, upon him. “Yeah? You get it?” Omega giggles again, but he, _ever the gentleman_ , does not interrupt any further.

 _“I thought that was what you wanted.”_ So soft, so sincere, and Omega, _for once_ , is unable to tease him. “You thought that was what I wanted?” If there is one man that The Cleaner is entirely unable to decipher, _that man would be Hangman Page_ . He sits atop the veranda stairs and observes the swimming pool from afar. He disregards the ache in his heart at the memory of swimming with _Page_ , at times _clinging_ to him with the lie of _‘I’m not a good swimmer.’_ But Page has always been so _irritatingly_ oblivious. “We _are_ cool, Page. Look, did I _say_ I didn’t want any of that?” He waits for a mere moment, _too quick_ for Page to so much as _attempt_ to answer the question, before he continues, “ _No_ , I didn’t. The cuddling was nice! _Very sweet_ , much better than sleeping with one of my stuffed animals.” Spoken with a singsong lilt, but spoken with _sincerity_.

“I was just… expecting more! I wanted you to—” For the first time in the night, he _hesitates_ , and his hesitation _agitates_ him. _His embarrassment, his_ weakness _agitates him_. So much so, that he says, “You know, I wanted you to kiss me, and touch me, and, _you know_ , I wanted you to _plow me like a field_ , cowboy!” A _bit_ too loudly, but it’s one o’clock in the morning — if anyone overheard, _then they should have been asleep_. He can yell all he wants about how badly he wants a cowboy to _plow him like a field_ in the privacy of his uncle’s vacation home, _come on_. “But I’m _ugly_ , or something, so _whatever_.” Regardless, he’s _almost_ embarrassed. With his arms still crossed, he grabs and _pulls_ at his shirt sleeves. _Maybe he’d said too much_.

He huffs, and he, in _Jacksonville,_ is able to see his breath. “That’s not why I _left_ , though. I just had things to do! And it was early, I didn’t think it’d be a big deal if I let you sleep.” He’s not _entirely_ lying. While he hadn’t exactly had _‘things to do,’_ he truly _hadn’t_ wanted to wake Page. God _knows_ what would have happened if he _had_ woken Page. “But I guess I was wrong.” He shrugs his shoulders. “Jesus Christ, Page: if you’re this upset now, I can’t even _imagine_ how you’d be acting if we _had_ slept together.”

**A.**

All too soon, Adam’s anger blunted and faded. Like the passing cars on the road or the tide that ebbed from an exposed beach. The white-hot of his rage cooled and soothed by Kenny’s obnoxious voice. Like, Kenny’s hands on his chest in the ring, telling him to not let the opponent in his head. A tingle sparked at his fingertips and he pressed his hand against his chest. Adam’s heart fluttered and stuttered against the inside of his rib cage. The phone altered the cadence of Kenny’s tone. Distorted the scratch of his lower register. It wasn’t like Kenny was sitting on Adam’s bed. Golden curls burnished by the lamp light or his pale blue, chilling eyes, searching Adam’s face. _Come back to bed,_ he’d say, to Adam’s ramblings, _it was a bad dream._ Not at all like Kenny curled in his arms, warm and heavy. He was somewhere else, maybe miles away, when Adam felt he should be _here._

“Kenny, I–” Adam began, but Adam could’ve gone through the whole Oxford English Dictionary and not find the word he was looking for. He bowed, he sighed, exhale shuttering and shaking, “I don’t understand.”

Again and again, in his head, like a prayer or a holy mantra, repeated the phrase: _I wanted you to kiss me._ Adam needed something coherent, from his thoughts, maybe a witty come back, or a smooth line. His brain supplied him with images of Kenny’s lips, red and parted, slicked with spit. Of kissing Kenny, quick or slow, or deep and long, exploring every inch of Kenny, tangling his hands in those tight curls, of— yep, okay, pull the reins there cowboy. 

“Kenny, are you fucking with me?” Adam blurted-out with a chuckle. Right, because Kenny had done weirder things before. Like, kiss Cody in the middle of a match or grab Matt’s hand, then go skipping down the street. Head out of the clouds, feet on the ground, Page. “Because, if you are, it’s not funny. Seriously, I really thought I messed up again when you left, thought I crossed a line. Like, I fucked-up again. It’s been eating me up for a month. You’re really important to me, you’re my _best friend._ Like, I don’t, I don’t want you to worry about it. You were just having a bad dream and I thought I could help is all. If you didn’t like it— I’m sorry.”

 _It,_ the cuddling, because Page couldn’t say he dreamed of holding Kenny every night he spent in that cold bed. He went home, changed hotel rooms, slept on the couch, or didn’t sleep at all, none of it worked. Couldn’t get over Kenny, couldn’t forget his smile or his fingers interlaced with Adam’s. Always chasing that belt, always chasing Kenny. 

Adam paced the room, each word punctuated with a strike of his heel to the coarse carpet. He ended the soliloquy on his sordid apology, another one for the pile. His hoarse throat scratched, strangled by the stale hotel room air. Adam approached the balcony door and fought with the stiff latch to escape into the crisp, Winter night. Streetlights flooded over him, the neon signs of the beachfront bars and escapes. All of the windows of the surrounding buildings and hotels were dark, fallen with sleep. 

“And, I don’t think you’re ugly,” He continued, barreling on like a freight train with no breaks. “I mean, you’re a really attractive guy, like, you’re gorgeous, dude. It’s just, I don’t know, maybe I thought you were in love with Colt. Seriously, Kenny, you can do better than me for a one-night stand.”

He laughed, hand resting against the balcony rail. It sounds like a rib, a joke they’d have a few months ago. The noise that came from his throat was hollow. 

“I’ve really missed you,” Adam admitted, voice softening. “We should hang again sometime, I’d like to meet, _Champio_ _n_ Kenny Omega.”

And that sounded too sour to taste sweet. 

**K.**

If there is one man that The Cleaner is entirely unable to decipher, _that man would be Hangman Page_. Omega could not have voiced his desires any clearer, and yet, Page does not understand. Worse, still, is that Page thinks that Omega is _joking_. ‘Round and ‘round on the carousel he and Page will go because Hangman Page is — Hangman page is _what?_ The very _existence_ of Hangman Page is a phenomenon that Omega is, _really and truly_ , unable to comprehend. Is he truly _that_ oblivious, and does he truly believe that Omega had been joking? Is he willfully ignorant, and does he simply not _want_ to confront the fact that Omega had wanted him, and still _does_ want him? Is he repulsed, and is he wishing that Omega _were_ truly joking?

The most horrible of all, however, is Page’s admission that he perhaps thought that Omega was in love with Colt Cabana. _Colt Cabana_. Omega would be lying if he were to say that Colt Cabana isn’t charming beyond the _annoyingness_ , but to be in _love_ with him? To be in love with _Colt Cabana?_ For Hangman Page —the man that Kenny Omega, The Best Bout Machine, and The Cleaner, loves and would, evidently, like to be _plowed like a field_ by— to think that he was in love with _Colt Cabana?_ How could he _not_ laugh despairingly at that? He doesn’t, but he _would_ if he weren’t as mortified as he is. He returns his cellphone to his right hand, and he breathes a laugh, half-entertained, _half-horrified_. What the Hell is he to say to all of this?

He hasn’t spoken in what _feels_ like an eternity, and he forces his voice from his throat, managing, **“** I’m— I’m sorry? **”** As if he doesn’t know what Page had said and is asking him to say it again, but if Page says it again— particularly that he thought that he was in love with _Colt Cabana_ — Omega may truly _wither and die_ from the mortification. He coughs, clearing his throat, and speaks again, **“** I appreciate, uh, the _‘Champion Kenny Omega’_ thing. And also that you think that I’m — I’m _gorgeous_. **”** He giggles again, boyishly, _nervously_ , and twirls his hair. His giggling atrophies into the _whining_ of his voice, however. **“** But you thought — you thought I was in love with _Colt?_ Oh, my _god_ , Page! **”** For a moment, it appears as if nothing were wrong, that Omega hadn’t destroyed yet another man that he claimed to love, that Omega hadn’t betrayed _all_ that he loves and now all he has left is a man who very well may be manipulating him —The Invisible Hand, pulling the strings, long since frayed, of The Cleaner.

Callis couldn’t be manipulating him. Callis has known him since he was ten years old. How _could_ Callis manipulate him? He couldn’t. _He wouldn’t dare_.

If Callis is manipulating him —

 **“** _When I think back on that day you came through my door, and I gave you that break when no one else would, I think back on that day as the worst goddamn day of my life._ **”**

Well, _it wouldn’t be the first time_.

Omega, too, had been struck with Callis’s microphone.

 **“** I can’t do better than you. **”** He’s breathing heavily, now, his fingertips once twirling his hair now _yanking_ at it. There is no one better than Page, not sexually, not romantically, not _platonically_. He can’t do better than Page: Page is better than him, and Page will always, _always_ be better than him. _After all, he is the hero_. **“** I want you. **”** He needs to leave. He stands, and he scrabbles for the stair railing because his knees _buckle_ when he does. He needs to leave. _He needs to leave_. **“** Look, I really need to — I really gotta go. It’s late. **”** _Kenny_ is breathing heavily, now, white-knuckling the railing. He needs to talk to Don. _That’ll make him feel better_. **“** I’m sorry for— **”** _Everything_. **“** I’m sorry for calling so late. **”**

 _He wants Adam_.

**A.**

Frost nipped Adam’s bare skin. Cold air condensed and frosted against his parted lips. A street light flickered in the opposite parking garage. The wind tugged at his hair, laden with salt, and his head filled with the ocean roar. The chill soaked into his muscles and pierced his bones. Spider web fractures broke him like glass. A stroke of wind and he’d crumble to dust. In this city the sky was black, the stars scared away by the lights. Back home he could find Orion or the dippers, squeeze Mars between his fingers. When the Sun rose in the East it’d chase Venus and Mercury, the morning darlings. What was he looking for in the bleak dark but distant supernovae long dead? 

“Kenny–” Adam whispered. Reverent, like he was at the altar, hands extended and knees aching, wedged in the plush crimson carpet. Adam turned, arm hooking around his stomach, and he leaned back against the railing. “No, wait, please, for a second, stop running away–” His voice bit with frustration – “and just, just _talk_ to me. None of this cryptic _crap_.”

The kiss, the hotel room, this phone call, the taste of milk and whiskey, Kenny’s hands interlaced with his own, all warning signs on the horizon of a building storm. For years these thunderheads stacked and darkened, pillaring into the sky. Static laced the air and the tension grew. Adam thought he was the only one who felt the lightning at his fingertips. Then, like a hurricane rushing in-land, the pressure broke and the rain fell. Maybe, it was at All Out or at Full Gear. Someone laid the last straw on the camel’s back and it fucking broke. What if, and this was a total shot in the dark, Kenny had read the writing on the wall. 

Jesus, Adam wasn’t smart enough to play this 4D chess. 

Kenny Omega just said he wanted Adam to ‘plow him like a field;’ the Dark Order invited him to an orgy, like four hours ago; and Adam found a twenty-dollar bill on the boardwalk when walking down to the ocean yesterday morning, which was pretty sweet, but like, what the actual shit is happening. 

“It’s just–” Adam said, “I–I,” he swallowed and choked, stuttering, what was he going to say. _I love you. I want you. I need you. “_ I’m sorry.”

His eyes pricked and he wiped the tear before it fell down his cheek. Adam covered his mouth to hide his shuddering breath from Kenny _. I want you. I want you. I want you. I want you._ None of it figured, the puzzle pieces didn’t fit. _I want you_ and Kenny told Adam all the things he wanted: touches, kisses … farm work. 

“You’re right, you’re right, it– it is late,” he nodded to himself. Maybe, Adam just needed to spend some time with his thoughts or take a long walk off a short pier. He’d decide on the way. “You had a hard match and I’m– I’m tired, really tired, and uh, but, don’t, don’t be a stranger, Kenny. I’ll talk to you later.”

He should’ve ended the call, hit the big red button, and ended the conversation. Instead, Adam stayed there, heart ripped out of his chest and clinging to the scraps Kenny handed him. He shouldn’t be happy with crumbs, but he was never a dignified or worthy bastard. God damn it, Adam Page was desperate and completely uncertain of what the hell he was waiting for.

At least, he was ready to admit it now. 

**K.**

Stop running away. That’s all Omega knows how to do: run away, run away, _run away_. He doesn’t know how to stay. He’s never known how to. _He’ll never know how to_. Running away is easier, will always _be_ easier. He abandoned Matt and Nick. He abandoned The Elite. He abandoned Japan. He abandoned _him_. It eats away at him, devours him in the nights where he can’t sleep and all he’s able to think of is him, him, _him_. He could be married, now, if he’d stayed. A ceremony in Winnipeg, a second ceremony is Kagoshima once their marriage is legalized. He could be thinking about children, now, if he’d stayed. But Omega didn’t deserve that. But Omega didn’t deserve _him_. So he left. He left Japan. He left the man that he’d claimed to love. _And what has he done since?_

He could be with _him_ , now, if he’d stayed. He could have _helped_ him if he’d stayed. He could have stayed if he’d trusted him enough. He could have trusted him enough, if he weren’t so fucked up, so _fucked up_ that he can’t _stand_ it, that he pulls at his hair and scratches, scratches, _scratches_ as if he could tear the sickness from his skin. But the sickness is in his fingertips and underneath his fingernails; but the sickness is in his teeth and in the cavities of his bones — but the sickness is in his spine and in his nervous system and _that’s_ why he’s so _fucked up_ because every impulse of his body is sick, sick, _sick_. From his heart of tarnished gold to his soul tainted with the blood of those he claims to love because all he knows how to do is _destroy_ , he’s _sick_. Page is drowning in the bottom of the bottle, now, and _it eats away at Omega, devours him in the nights where he can’t sleep and all he’s able to think of is him, him,_ him.

And he had the audacity to mention sex.

 _Fuck_.

He had the audacity to mention sex but _God_ at least that way he could be with Page, be touched and kissed by him in wild intimacy, without confessing the truth, without allowing himself to become truly _vulnerable_ with the admissions of his _bone-deep_ sickness and his love for him, of his _need_ , the ache in his teeth, for him. He could give himself, his _body_ , to Page, and he could remain _safe and secure_ in his anonymity, love letters kept, under lock and key, to his heart. _God, what the fuck is wrong with him?_ He’s _sick_ , yanking hard at his hair as his voice seizes in his throat and he chokes back a whimper so pathetic that even _he’s_ embarrassed. _“_ Adam, can I—? _”_

 _“_ You’re still awake? _”_ If Omega hadn’t flinched at Callis’s voice, then he certainly flinches at Callis’s hand grasping, _too hard_ , at his shoulder. _"_ Hey, who’re you talking to? _”_ Callis reaches for his cellphone, and Omega, spluttering, stumbles down two of the stairs in his agitation, yelping about how it _doesn’t matter_ who he’s speaking to as he cradles the cellphone protectively against his chest. _“Jesus_ , Kenny, what’s gotten into you, kid? Calm down, all right? Don’t need you freaking out and falling down the stairs on me. _”_ Callis’s smile is far too proud, far too _entertained_ by the anxiety of the man he’s promised to _‘take care of_ , _’_ for his words to be sincere. _“Anyway_ , just wanted to let you know that we should get going to Nashville. _”_ He pats at Omega’s shoulder and passes him a house key. _Strange that he hadn’t had one already_. "I’ll be waiting out front. Lock up for me, all right? _”_

And Omega is alone again. He looks at his cellphone. Page hadn’t ended the call. He stares at the cellphone’s screen, at the seconds passing, at the red of the _‘end call’_ button. _Page hadn’t ended the call_. He flusters, lips parted as he weighs the options of _saying something_ and _ending the call_. If he says something, it could be, and likely _would_ be, something _stupid_. If he ends the call, it would certainly be better damage control than anything he could say, but it could incite worry — _if Page even still cares about him_. But Callis isn’t _forcing_ him to go to Nashville, nor _could_ Callis force him to — that’s _obvious_. Does he _want_ to go to IMPACT?

_…_

All of the attention he’ll get from the appearance will make it _more_ than worth it, anyway.

 _He ends the call_. He ascends the stairs and enters Callis’s vacation home: the decor is loud and obnoxious in its expense, and Omega loves it. For winning the championship, Callis had gifted him the jewelry of bracelets and a ring, and Omega loves it. Callis had arranged for a recreational vehicle — _The Lex Express_ , Omega had excitedly said, _like a child_ , upon its reveal— to accommodate them in their travels, _and Omega loves it_. He loves all of it, the wealth, the materialism. _And yet, Omega thinks of him_. He thinks of small, _too small_ , farmhouses in the middle of nowhere, acres of land, _theirs_ , to build upon. His cat, Page’s two _teddy bears_ for dogs; he doesn’t know how well Dobby would get along with dogs, but he imagines them curled up together at the end of the bed, Dobby purring away amongst the _Goldendoodle_ fluff. The heating system has yet to be installed, and they only have a few pieces of furniture, but Adam has built a fire, and all they need is each other. He twirls a lock, _golden_ , of Adam’s hair around his forefinger, and Adam kisses him on the mouth and he’s smiling because he loves him so much, even after everything, and Kenny loves him, too, and Kenny loves him —

_Can I come over?_

_I love you._

He pushes into the bathroom and collapses hard to his knees to retch and vomit into the toilet.

He can’t be Kenny Omega anymore.

_Kenny Omega is too weak._

He rinses his mouth with tap water. He stares into the mirror. The man who stares back isn’t him. He exits the bathroom. He exits Callis’s vacation home. He locks the front door. He enters The Lex Express. He smiles at Callis. He waves his hand, dismissive, at Callis’s complaints of him _‘taking too long.’_ He grinds his teeth. _“_ Hey, who’s the _champ_ here? _”_ He asks, rhetorical, _“_ I can take as long as I goddamn _want!”_ And Callis laughs. Omega sits in one of the chairs with an exaggerated groan. He retrieves his sunglasses from his pocket. He puts them on. He doesn’t care that it’s one-thirty in the morning — _he puts them on_. _Well_ , come on, _Mister Callis_. _”_ He says, reclining into the seat. He looks at the mirror against the adjacent wall. _“_ Let’s go make history. _”_

The man who stares back isn’t him.

**A.**

_Adam, can I–_

The answer was ‘yes.’ 

Whatever Kenny asked, the answer was _yes._ If Kenny asked Adam to drown himself in the ocean, he would surely walk into the sea. Yet, Kenny didn’t ask. The phone glued to Adam’s ear as he waited for the conclusion. For Kenny to fill in the blanks before his brain jumped into the pit. All he heard instead was scuffling, muffled voices, and Kenny’s strained tone. A heart-wrenching noise that almost had Adam scrambling for his boots. Then, the call ended without fanfare. Adam was frozen, the screen pressed against his frost-nipped cheek. He swallowed and wedged his stiffened fingers under his armpit. Then, ever so slow, in defeat, Adam’s hand fell to his side and he heaved a sigh. A sigh that transitioned to a long, deep, guttural groan as his head tipped back. Adam peered upwards, into the black, abyssal sky, into heaven. 

Never in his life was he a religious man. His mom went to church and she herded her three children into the pew with her every week until they were old enough to stay home alone. On Sunday's Adam didn’t want to go, she never made him. Yet, there were weeks he hungered for communion. The rare days when he looked forward to resting his knees at the foot of the altar. A blessing to assuage a troubled soul. Confession to relieve the weight of his guilt. In the background of his mind, there was a quiet whisper of the spirituality his mother instilled in him. The echo of the songs the choir sang or the promises the pastor made. Of a God, of a Thing bigger than him. It was to this Thing that Adam uttered his soft prayer. A rare request for help from a man who thought that if he could walk someplace on his own, he didn’t need the divine to carry him. Adam didn’t pray in bed or mutter devotions in the car. Heaven was awfully lofty, to him, at the far end of an unseen future. That was crap beyond his pay grade. Adam was at the end of his rope however and in need of some immediate miracles. Didn’t care what it looked like, so long as it got the pressure off his back. 

He stayed there, leaned against the railing and basking in the bleak, miserable cold. No angels floated down from on high and no trumpets played. Not even a curly-head, one-winged angel, with a goofy grin. The rapture hadn’t come for him yet. Adam lurched back inside and fiddled with the door latch ‘till it locked. He looked over his room. At the stacks of coins, he’d organized on the nightstand. The disheveled bed, his coat laid over the back of the chair, or the whiskey bottle on the dresser. If he slipped under the blankets now he’d stay there ‘till dawn. So, Adam found his jeans from the laundry pile. He yanked on thick socks and boots. Layered-up in a t-shirt, flannel, and his winter coat, soft, lined with wool. Adam escaped the hotel room, phone in his back pocket in case Kenny called again and for no other reason. He took the stairs down, two, three at a time, and jumped to the last landing. The ocean seethed when he emerged from the lobby door. Adam crossed the road, mounted the boardwalk, and then climbed the soft sand dunes. 

The Atlantic spread before him like an embrace. He gazed over the long horizon, corner-to-corner, far beyond the lights of Jacksonville. Where the water met the sky, the ocean fell off the face of the Earth. There was an edge to this planet and it was beyond the horizon line. Adam ducked his head against the chilling sea breeze and headed down to the water. The tide rushed for his toes but he stood out of reach. He turned to his right, South, with the moon in his peripheral. Adam began to walk, hands shoved in his pockets, and eyes set on a distant point, far, far down the beach. During the day, Jacksonville’s beaches crowded with hundreds, maybe thousands of people. At night, with the resorts and hotels dark, it was just him. 

“I _was just … expecting more! I wanted you to—”_

In his head, Adam sketched Kenny. His straight-nose, round cheeks, pale eyelashes, and sparse, but defined brow. He’d smile in Adam’s drawing. Close lipped but gaze soft, corners of his eyes crinkled. It’d take hours to finish his curls. Adam would put him in the collar of an ugly t-shirt, for accuracy. He couldn’t leave out the rest of Kenny too. The definition of his shoulder, his chest, or the slope of his waist. His hands, pale, with long but calloused fingers. Adorable, gorgeous, funny, focused, _smart,_ eccentric, competitive, perfectionistic, and level-headed, Adam couldn’t capture it all in a single picture, or ten thousand. Nothing but the real deal ever measured-up. 

“ _You know, I wanted you to kiss me, and touch me, and, you know, I wanted you to plow me like a field, cowboy!”_

Kenny Omega arrived at Adam’s hotel room and asked to stay the night. They shared a bed, tangled together, seeking comfort beneath the sheets. It was so simple and innocent, yet infused with meaning. Kenny left before Adam woke-up. Didn’t talk to him for a month. At that thought, Adam paused, feet sinking in the firm sand. For the first time, he let his mind wander, consider all the ways that night could’ve gone. Tried to figure out why twice now, Kenny ran away. Let his mind wander from his romantic daydreams to the physical, the nitty-gritty. Chased the rabbit down the hole a little bit. Kenny, obviously, had chased those same rabbits. Which was baffling to Adam because, as far as he was aware, there had been no rabbits– to continue an already stupid metaphor. Okay, so there were rabbits now and they were multiplying at a rapid pace. The rabbits were breeding like rabbits. 

“ _I can’t do better than you.”_

They’d marry in December, in New York, because then it wouldn’t be too far for their families to travel. When it was cold and snowing. Adam bought the ring in March. _An opal ring, size eight, crowned in a black steel band, intricate but not elaborate, studded with small rubies, with ‘beloved’ written inside--_ He’d take Kenny to a hill in the pastures of his family farms in May. When the wind was sharp but not chilling. Maybe they rode the horses out. Either way, while Kenny appreciated the view of the tobacco fields and Virginia mountains. Adam’d pop the question, and then– okay, okay, too many rabbits. 

“ _I want you.”_

And at the farthest extent of this metaphor, before it broke to utter nonsense, Adam was Alice. Sleepy and stupid on a Summer day, fading into a bizarre dream. He stood in the fields, staring down that white rabbit, about to plunge into the hole. There were so many flipping rabbits but this one was really important. He’d chased it before, but he wasn’t fast enough or he couldn’t fit in the warren. Did he turn back, return to his sister’s side or did he push into that run? Okay, but the rabbit didn’t have to be Kenny. It could be the belt. Or, was the rabbit ever Kenny, no, actually it was supposed to be a metaphor for his feelings. He thinks he lost track of what the rabbits symbolize around the third rabbit. Which makes sense, because that’s when he was thinking about making-out with Kenny. 

This wasn’t working. 

Like, how his phone evidently wasn’t working because Kenny hadn’t called him back to explain what the fuck was going on. He paused and flicked on the device, imputed the pass code, with trembling, cold fingers. He glanced at the Health App and saw the thousands of steps he’d racked-up, chasing rabbits. Adam swallowed, hands cold, feet sore, and his eyes heavy. He’d just call an Uber to drive him back to the hotel at this point. In the midst of button presses, though, he glanced-up. The moon hovered over the sea, breaking free of black, obscuring clouds. _La Noche hace oscura._ And he had no idea when the sun would rise. Okay, so what if, hypothetically, Adam took Kenny seriously, and what if, this time, he chased the rabbit for the hell of it. Fuck the stakes, he just wanted to see where this ended. 

He wasn’t sure if he should go home or not. If, after losing the Battle Royale, it was worth it to return _home. Again._

He didn’t know.

But, he was willing to chase the rabbit, at least, one more time. No, he wasn’t just willing to, he realized, knees buckling, till he sat in the sand, hand draped over his knee. Closed his eyes, tasted the salt on his lips, and felt the wind in his hair. There wasn’t an ounce of quit in Adam Page. He _had_ to, he had to go back next Wednesday, he had to get back in matches, he had to chase Kenny. _Again._

He had to chase that belt.

Adam had in him -and this metaphor was in shambles– at least one more rabbit.


End file.
